


Captain Tiberius and Doctor Horatio's Adventures in Space Travel

by Gixxer_Pilot



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Children, Drama, Family, First Impressions, Gen, Humor, Second Chances, Storytelling, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:25:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gixxer_Pilot/pseuds/Gixxer_Pilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Preconceived notions are tough to break, even for someone as analytical as Spock. But when he observers a certain doctor interacting with two young, frightened children, Spock realizes that to err is human; to admit it is divine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: *waves her arms excitedly* Look, everyone! I wrote AOS canon!Trek. Seriously, it’s a bloody miracle I was able to get the cop!verse muses to shut up long enough for me to finish this piece (you know, since they seem to own my brain...). This idea hit me while I was cleaning up the yard, and the prospect made me laugh out loud. Usually, that’s a good sign in my world. Hopefully you all like it, too. As always, comments are loved but of course never required.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not, sadly, own Star Trek. I make no money from my writing and do it only for the enjoyment of it all. Please don’t sue me – it’s hard enough to make ends meet without Paramount breathing down my neck in a lawsuit. I promise to return your characters in good working order, though readers may end up with cavities.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_First Officer's personal log, stardate 2258.86_

_I believe I now fully understand my human counterparts in their constant use of the phrase, 'It's been a hell of a week.'_

_Though it has always been my wish to grasp my adoptive culture with more fluidity, I have learned that there are many instances in which discovery does indeed come with a price. This is one of those unfortunate circumstances. After the events of the past day, I would gladly trade all my human knowledge if it meant the Enterprise might have arrived a few hours earlier to our current position._

_I suppose some explanation is in order. We received a distress call from science station Bravo-6, located on the edge of Sector 97. Using the nearby black cluster as their research specimen, the station's occupants were tasked with improving Federation senor arrays to fully compensate for gravitational anomalies. As such, they were lightly armed with only a small handful of phasers, and the station itself thinly defended from hostile threats. (Incidentally, it will be my recommendation that going forward, all stations, regardless of purpose, be staffed by fully competent security forces.)_

_Reports coming into the ship were scattered; communications were infrequent at best. The station's head science officer, Commander Skellick, managed to relay that a Klingon Bird of Prey had de-cloaked off the port side only moments before he sent the message. At nearly the same second, a boarding party beamed across from the enemy vessel. Any occupants near or at the command center were killed instantly. Only a small handful of scientists were able to make their way to the airlocked contamination room in the bowels of the station, sealing themselves inside. It was from that position Dr. Skellick made his call._

_The Enterprise proceeded at maximum warp towards the station, but even at such speed, we did not arrive in time. An away team was assembled as we approached the sector._

_(At this point, I feel it prudent to mention that, even though we are just months into this first five-year mission, it has become an unspoken custom for Captain Kirk to ignore regulations concerning the importance of the ship's captain. I should have grown accustomed to this; alas, I have not been able to fully appreciate his ever-present need to personally lead his subordinates into potentially hostile territory. He is illogical and completely insatiable in his hands-on approach. I have heard the term 'adrenaline junkie' used in description, though a precise definition confounds me. I endeavor to find out, however, just at a more appropriate juncture.)_

_But I digress. Our away team consisted of myself, Chief Giotto and three of his men – Lt. Evans, Ensign Holder and Ensign Freeman – along with Dr. McCoy and Captain Kirk. We beamed aboard to find the station in ruin. It was plain to my eyes that a very one-sided fight had occurred. Phaser burns were habitually present on the wall, mixed with blood and fluids from the various experiments and equipment on board. The station's schematics were useless, as fallen metal beams inhibited our every attempt to move deeper into the complex. The smoke, along with the fact the power grid was compromised, made it nearly impossible to see, even with the high-powered lights we carried. Several times I remember righting a falling teammate or advising they step over whatever debris was littered in our paths._

_From the level of damage inflicted, it was clear that the station's assailants held little regard for the occupants they attacked. Death, in most cases, was not quick, nor was it painless. The Klingons, if it was indeed a Klingon attack, were looking for something they deemed of importance. Whatever it was, we are unsure if they were able to retrieve it. Ensign Chekov and his team are decoding the data at this very moment. My hope is that the results are positive in our favor._

_A full search of the premises, from the proverbial stem to stern, yielded no life signs. We were able to recover the remains of all twenty-six scientists aboard the station for transport aboard the Enterprise back to Earth. Once the location was deemed secure, I order Chief Giotto to conduct a comparison check of the duty roster pulled from the station's mainframe against the records possessed by Starfleet. His discovery was both startling and disheartening, as it showed two of the scientists, Dr. Skellick and one of his researchers, Dr. Sandra Carter, married shortly after their assignments to Bravo 6. Their union produced two human children, Max and Anna, ages six and four._

_At that point, we had not yet recovered the remains of any human children._

_I have no logical explanation for the chain of events in the succeeding moments. It has been well noted that Dr. McCoy, while a proficient leader in his own sickbay one of the finest surgeons in Starfleet, struggles to take command during missions away from the ship. Whether this is a byproduct of fear or of something else entirely, I could not say with any certainty. But there was a visible change the moment Dr. McCoy was informed the children were missing. He was, as Admiral Pike used to say, 'A man on a mission', determined to find the pair. He singlehandedly began his own search. In the few seconds he was not working, he vehemently encouraging the remainder of the landing party to follow his lead. I do believe we were all so shocked that we simply complied, though I may have raised an eyebrow or two in Jim's general direction._

_As we began, I calculated the probability of finding the children alive at nine point two-four percent. After three hours, Chief Giotto was vocally unoptimistic about our chances, going as far as informing the CMO of that very fact. Dr. McCoy was…less than receptive to the suggestion that we abandon the search. We continued on for another hour before even the captain's normally chipper outlook grew bleak. All attempts to convince Dr. McCoy to cease and desist were rebuffed, and we were told that we could, "Take our sorry asses back to the ship by our damned selves," should we feel the search was hopeless._

_On most occasions, I am displeased to have been proven wrong. My conclusions are always based on fact, logic and tactical evidence. In ninety-nine cases from one hundred, I am correct in my assertions. It was in this instance that I was mistaken. In this case, dare I say it, I preferred to have been incorrect. Dr. McCoy, after delivering a second and much more comprehensive lecture on proper human nature, spotted a sliver of movement in an air duct. Over the protests of Chief Giotto, he somehow managed to wedge his rather broad frame into a space less than three meters wide before he disappeared inside the air ducts. He was out of sight for ten minutes, fifty-six seconds before he emerged with two small children._

_While Max and Anna were clearly terrified, they were otherwise unharmed. I am optimistic for their long-term prognosis, though I admit to feelings of trepidation at their reaction once they learn the fate of their parents. According to Dr. McCoy, they have not been told at this juncture. My experience with human children is limited at best; however, it has been my observations that they are very intuitive little creatures. I doubt Dr. McCoy's withholding has escaped their prevue. But, it can be a small consolation to him, as well to the rest of the crew, that the children remain blissfully ignorant at this point in time._

_It is not in my nature to resort to spirituality, though I understand some onboard the Enterprise practice their individual brand of worship. But the word 'miraculous' comes to the forefront of my mind as I think about the events as they transpired today. If I was indeed divine intervention that saved two children, I give nothing but humble thanks._

Spock clicked off the recording just in time to hear his communicator's telltale chirp. Sighing, he answered a curt but polite, "Spock."

Nyota's excited voice met his from the other end of the comm. "Spock! You need to come to sickbay. Right now! We have a situation."

Instantly alert, the first officer replied with, "Has something happened to the children from Bravo 6?" while he pushed himself away from his desk. He grabbed a cleaned and pressed uniform tunic off the hanger in the closet, slipped it over his head and headed straight out the door. Hanging a left outside his quarters, he said curtly, "I am on my way."

Spock double-timed his normal rapid pace from the quarters he shared with Uhura towards the turbolift. Nestled in the heart of the ship, sickbay was strategically placed as to mitigate the effects of any direct hits the ship might absorb during a firefight. As the former location hadn't been enough to save Dr. Puri or the countless others who'd died during Nero's initial attack, Dr. McCoy insisted that sickbay be relocated aft and down a few decks for optimum protection from enemy attacks. It was a logical decision in Spock's mind, even if it meant an increased travel time of thirty-six point two eight seconds to his destination.

While he was walking, Spock's brilliant mind was semi-occupied cataloguing the thousands of different ways his life had just gone pear-shaped. Again. Did one of the children correctly deduce the fate of their parents? Was there some sort of delayed stress reaction from one of Giotto's young subordinates who were seeing real death for the first time? Or was there something wrong with one of the children that were missed on the initial exam? The likelihood of the third option was slim given Dr. McCoy's competency, but personal experience told him that adrenaline could do strange things to a human body.

Approaching sickbay, Spock rounded the corner that separated the main hallway from the entrance. Making good use of the motion sensors positioned above each door, he gave the door just enough time to slide open before he slipped through. He stopped in the reception alcove behind the door through which he just came, looking for Uhura.

The secondary set of doors that divided the reception area and the actual sickbay itself whooshed open, and a frantic Nyota ran through. Christine Chapel, McCoy's head nurse, and the only being in the universe who could truly make the stubborn doctor listen followed her closely. Both women were talking amongst themselves at a mile a minute, the rate fast enough that even Spock's superior processing skills were being tested as he tried to decode the 'women speak'.

"Spock!" the lithe, dark-skinned woman exclaimed as she quickened her pace, practically bouncing towards her perplexed boyfriend.

He looked again. He was expecting pensive, tight, drawn faces, prepared to deliver yet another blow of bad news on top of any already bogus week. Instead, both the communications officer and the nurse were smiling, full and toothy. Both women were practically bouncing on their feet as they approached the surprised Vulcan. Reflexively, Spock took a half step back. "I am going to assume that your reasoning for my presence is not a negative one."

"Hell, no!" Christine Chapel's Louisiana accent, which thickened like honey when she was excited, practically oozed from her lips. "If I hadn't seen this for myself, I'd have never believed it. Get in here and watch!"

Now fully intrigued, Spock's right eyebrow marched up his forehead as he linked his hands behind his back. He took three long strides through the reception alcove, clearing the door when Chapel entered her code.

The Enterprise's redesigned sickbay was masterful, in both design and function. From a bird's eye view, the entire bay was shaped like a flower. The entrance through which the trio walked was the proverbial base that led upwards to a long, wide, wavy stem. The 'stem', or main service hallway, was the artery of the sickbay, with different sections branching off at various, interspersed points. The critical care sections came first, positioned as if they were leaves sticking off the stalk. The surgery suites were placed to her left; emergency was to the right, both separated by their own airlock from the main thoroughfare. Daisy petals, set up in a circle around supply and administrative offices, made up the look of the general admissions area as well as the preventative care spaces.

In the heart of the flower, Christine wasted no time accessing her office. The door secured behind them, and Chapel punched up the lock and engaged the soundproofing. Walking over to her personal console, she ran her fingers over the hidden buttons in the desk and waited for the screen across the room to illuminate. An image, blurry at first before it cleared to life-like sharpness, populated on the screen.

Spock lowered himself into of the three chairs sitting adjacent to the desk. Noting the ticking white numbers and letters surrounded by a black bar on the bottom of the screen, he studied the image intently.

Sterile lighting gave way to an empty bed, complete with the Federation logo on the pillows. Off to one corner sat a traditional style rocking chair. On the other side of the bed, Spock could make out the edges of a box that hovered over the pillows. When he looked closer, he saw the bed had side rails, though they were collapsed into their parade rest position, and that the box his eyes contemplated moments earlier was a bio readout monitor. He analyzed the carpet, the layout and the colors, concluding, "You have misappropriated the security feed from general admissions in sickbay? Please explain to me how you came into possession of this data."

Chapel and Uhura exchanged guilty glances. Together, they confessed, "Giotto."

"Chief Giotto gave you access to a privileged security feed? I do believe I require the reasoning behind this, as I find his actions at this very moment illogical and inappropriate."

Chapel looked contrite. "I might have promised him that his physical will be done by M'Benga this year instead of Len as tradeoff for letting us in on this little moment." She shrugged, a piece of blonde hair falling from the bun secured at the nape of her neck. "What can I say? It was too good of an opportunity to pass up."

Forehead crinkling in confusion, Spock's head tilted to the side in one sharp, angular moment. "While I am certain your intentions are fair, I do not see justification for such a breech. This is a serious offense. For what purpose have you broken regulations?"

Chapel, completely ignoring the first officer's observation on good ship's discipline, smiled and said, "Just watch, and you'll figure out why."

Pursing his lips, Spock turned his head back towards the screen as he thought about why, exactly, the chief would have helped the two women stream a closed-circuit camera footage. His disciplinary thoughts were interrupted by a set of childlike giggles, audible from the feed. Spock suppressed a smile as two small figures, shrieking and laughing, clambered up the foot of the biobed as they raced for the head. As they moved closer to the camera's lens, the Vulcan recognized the tiny faces as Max and Anna Skellick, identifiable by their tufts of blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Max crawled up first, throwing his hands up over his head in victory and he leaned up against one of the pillows. Encouraging his sister with a couple of emphatic hand waves, Anna bravely fought the plethora of fluffy softness the final two feet before she all but collapsed against her older sibling. Exhausted and panting, she folded herself up like a cat as she huddled against her brother.

Spock was about to cite human nature's propensity for over exaggeration to the two women, but movement to the right of the security feed stopped him. He snapped his jaw closed when a much larger figure dropped into the old rocking chair adjacent to the bio. Dr. McCoy's strong jaw and dark hair was easily discernible in profile, despite the fact he was out of uniform in a grey hooded sweatshirt and a pair of comfortable track pants. He reached down off camera, and when his left arm returned, his fingertips held the edges to a thick, handmade afghan. He pulled it over his two charges, tucking it in with tenderness and concern Spock honestly didn't know he possessed. A tender, rare smile graced the normally caustic CMO's lips, and the first officer found his own face softening at the sight.

Next to him, Chapel and Nyota practically exploded in a gushing sea of motherly squeals. The first officer barely restrained the urge to put a finger to his left ear, lest the women deafen him. Clearing his throat, Spock folded his hands in his lap, straightened his posture, and said simply, "I see."

Nyota recovered her speech abilities first, though she wore a grin just as large as Christine's as she decoded 'Spock Speak'. "I knew you'd understand," she said, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"I am uncertain as to what you seem to be insinuating," he replied innocently.

Uhura fixed her boyfriend with a stare she most definitely learned from her mother, the one that said, ' _Don't you dare contradict me when you know I'm right,_ ' in bright, bold letters. "That sometimes bending the rules is an okay thing to do."

"I do believe that service on this particular vessel does test my ingrained sense of good order," he began, feeling the tips of his ears grow a bit warm from Uhura's public display of affection. "However, if this breach in etiquette is in the name of 'doing the right thing', I see no reason to disallow the action. As long as the consequences are not detrimental the safety of the ship or her crew, I find no fault with it."

"Thank you," Christine breathed out genuinely. "I admit I was a little worried about you – being a little bit stuffy and all. But, you seem like an okay guy, all things considered. At least that's what she tells me," the nurse concluded with a sideways jerk of her thumb toward Uhura.

"Hey!" the communications officer exclaimed, lightly pushing her friend's arm.

Chapel's eyes moved over her shoulder, towards her friend as she smiled, though the expression didn't reach her eyes. Fiddling with the silver antique rolling ring on the thumb of her right hand, she said, "In all honesty, my plan wasn't to spy on Len. He was upset after you guys came back from Bravo 6, but he wouldn't talk to me. Typical, stubborn asshole that he is…Sir," she said with a glare towards McCoy's candid camera image. "I just wanted access to the feed to check up on him. But those two kids wouldn't let him out of their sight, so I called your girlfriend down to watch; then she called you. You got here just in time."

"For what?" Spock asked, confused.

Uhura scooted closer to the screen, toed off her black boots and propped her feet up on Chapel's desk, crossing her legs at the ankle. She snagged the bucket of popcorn off the surface with one finger and tossed a couple of kernels into her mouth. She laid one hand on Spock's arm and answered matter-of-factly, "Story time."

"Story time?" he questioned. "I am unfamiliar with this custom. Please explain it."

Christine and Nyota exchanged knowing glances as they settled in. "Oh, we will. Believe us – we _will_. Now, just sit back, relax and enjoy the show."

* * *

**Next Up** : McCoy gleefully takes pot shots at Kirk, fully knowing the captain isn't there to defend himself. Sucks to be Jim.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's story time aboard the USS Enterprise. The only thing truly surprising about that is who the storyteller is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: As I've stated several times before, I'm Minnesotan. And quite honestly, I'm really stereotypically Minnesotan. Not only do I have Kurt Russell's Herb Brooks accent from Miracle, I love everything a good little Midwesterner is supposed to enjoy (hunting, fishing, camping - basically anything outside). Since Jim is from Iowa, I thought he probably would enjoy much of the same things. This whole story is a result of that one very simple little thought. Crazy, right? Anyway, enjoy. And as always, reviews help feed my rabid tribbles! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: Star Trek is property of Mr. Gene Roddenberry and Paramount. I am simply playing in a great big sandbox. As I make no monetary profit from my work, I would appreciate not being sued.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Though he had to give Nyota and Christine credit for trying, their repeated attempts at explaining the complexities of human children were, nicely put, abject failures.

Spock arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow in the girls' directions. "I still do not understand."

"Oh, for God's sake, stop being so dense!" Nyota exclaimed after the third try of elucidation fell on confused, pointed Vulcan ears.

Christine rolled her eyes. "It's a human custom, Spock," Chapel admonished with an assured lightness to her tone. "Human kids need a bedtime story. It's the law when you're their age, especially the little one. Just…maybe we should watch. That might be easier," she said as a flicker of movement on the monitor caught her attention.

Wordlessly, Spock simply nodded and turned his head to the screen. Dr. McCoy's voice floated through the audio feed, his normally commanding, booming projection reduced down to all but a whispered shadow of its factory default setting. The Vulcan found himself transfixed by the way the man's face seemed to come alive as he spoke. McCoy's dark eyebrows jumped in just about every single direction, his hands flew in the air and his eyes went wide and excited. The children responded in kind, giggling and ducking as he told the story. It was such a complete change in the doctor that Spock didn't initially realize McCoy had finished his story. Only when the whining voices of Anna and Max were heard saying, " _Noooo! We want more!_ " did the first officer figure out he'd not processed a word of what McCoy said.

On the video feed, McCoy fixed the two children with a gaze similar to the ones he often gave to Jim, though it was dialed down about a hundred times in intensity and miraculously sans his ever-present profanity. He shoved his hands dramatically in the pouch of his sweatshirt, leaned back in the rocking chair and laid one foot against the side of the bed. He pretended to chew over his options, drawing out a very long, "I don't know," as he tilted his head from side to side.

Anna and Max kicked the afghan down as they bounced on their knees in anticipation. "Please?" Max whimpered.

McCoy tapped a finger against his lips before he said, "All right. One more. But this is it," he scolded, waving a long finger through the air. "Then you two munchkins hit the rack for some sleep. Doctor's orders."

High-pitched laughter permeated the feed. "What's a mun-kin?" Anna asked the doctor, nose crinkled and quite practically cross-eyed.

"You!" he answered loudly, tapping her on the nose with his index finger. "A munchkin is a little squirt, like you." Sobering, he said with a good bit of mock-seriousness, "Now, if there are little people who want to hear more of Captain Tiberius and Doctor Horatio's Adventures in Space Travel, they'd better get under that blanket and in bed."

A flurry of movement accompanied the end of McCoy's statement as both children settled themselves under the fluffy covers and bright afghan. Once his charges were properly cocooned, the doctor scooted the rocking chair closer and leaned over at his waist, resting his elbows on his knees. He took a breath, bit his lip, and began. "Dr. Horatio always thought someone dropped Captain Tiberius on his head when he was a baby. You want to know why?"

"Why?" Max asked.

"Well, when he and his crew weren't battling the mean Klingons or the evil Romulans, Captain Tiberius thought that fishing and camping were good ways to relax," McCoy replied with a twist of his lower lip. "Doctor Horatio was smarter than that, though. He thought that fishing in a canoe on a mosquito-infested lake in Iowa was not a good way to spend shore leave."

Max shoved his little hand up in the air. Grunting, he said, "But he went, though, right? Dr. Horatio?"

"Yes, he went, but just to make sure Captain Tiberius didn't fall down and hurt himself too badly, or to make sure that he didn't eat something he was allergic to. See, for all the fighting and naughty things Captain Tiberius has done, he isn't very smart when it comes to planning. He's not a very responsible adult," McCoy said with a flourish, earning matching snorts from Chapel and Uhura.

"So even though he didn't want to, Doctor Horatio followed Captain Tiberius over the river and through the woods in big, looping circles all morning long. He wished that his good friend would just pick a place to fish, but Captain Tiberius insisted that it had to be _right_ spot. Doctor Horatio thought his friend was crazy." McCoy said, barely able to suppress rolling his eyes while he rotated his right index finger in a circle about an inch from his ear. "Captain Tiberius finally announced that he'd found what he was looking for, so they put the canoe in the water and began to paddle. They made it out to the middle of a big lake. It was hot, bright, and there were these evil black bugs that bit Dr. Horatio that made his skin swell up like that!" McCoy said, snapping his fingers through the air while he puffed out his cheeks, imitating the swelling of a mosquito bite.

"Why were they in the lake?" Anna asked.

"That's a good question," McCoy replied. "Doctor Horatio spent all afternoon trying to figure it out while Captain Tiberius was having fun doing something he called 'fishing'. Do you guys know what that is?"

Both children shook their heads to the negative.

"Doctor Horatio thought it was a very stupid, very pointless activity. Since the doctor was so much smarter than the captain, it only took him a few seconds to figure that out. Captain Tiberius ignored his friend's better judgment, of course. He told his friend that he was supposed to take a pole that had some string attached to a hook, put a worm on the hook, and then stick the hook and worm in the water and wait for a fish to come and eat the worm."

Max picked that moment to yawn.

"That's exactly what Doctor Horatio thought. But, because Captain Tiberius didn't believe in no-win scenarios, he spent the entire day trying to convince Dr. Horatio to try fishing. Eventually, the doctor decided that he was either going to hypo the captain into unconsciousness or he was going to try the godda-" McCoy said, biting off the mild bit of profanity ready to tumble from his tongue. In a rare moment of censorship, he cleared his throat, shifted and continued with, "-Ridiculous activity, just to shut his friend up."

"Did it work?" Anna asked as she stuck her finger up her nose and gave a wholehearted pick.

McCoy gently reached up and pulled the young girl's hand down, handing her a tissue from the bedside table to wipe her fingers. He took the soiled cloth and tossed it into the biohazard bin tacked the foot of the bed before returning to his story. "No. It didn't help that it wasn't fair, either. See, Captain Tiberius was catching all the fish – big ones, like this," McCoy said, holding up his hands shoulders' width apart in the classic angler's exaggeration of the walleye's actual size. "And that Dr. Horatio hadn't had so much as a nibble all day!"

"That's not fair!" both children shrieked together. Max crossed his little arms over his chest, puffed out his lower lip and announced, "Captain Tiberius should have told the fish to be nice."

"Well, he might have," McCoy admitted. "The two friends were just about to pack up for the day, because it was getting dark. Dr. Horatio was tired, hot, sunburned and crabby, and he was just about to pull his bait up when he felt a tug on the bottom of the pole. He looked at Captain Tiberius, not sure if it was a fish, or if his friend was playing a joke on him. That's what the captain did to the doctor," he added. "But when the captain just shrugged, Dr. Horatio knew he actually had a fish. He waited – just like Captain Tiberius told him – to feel the fish really clamp down on the bait. Veeery, very carefully, the doctor stood up in the canoe, one leg one either side of the bench. He waited and he waited for just the right moment, and when he felt the fish bite, he jerked the rod back to try and hook the fish!" McCoy exclaimed, holding his hands like he was holding a fishing rod, pulling it straight up and backwards.

The children giggled at the wide-eyed expression on McCoy's face. "What happened?" Anna squeaked.

"What happened? What happened next was that Dr. Horatio decided that he hated fishing, he hated canoes, and he wanted to put a hurtin' on his best friend for roping him into the whole thing. See, canoes are long and skinny, and like Captain Tiberius, they don't make a lot of sense. When the doctor threw his hands back to try and catch his fish, he upset the balance of the boat and started falling. He tried to catch himself, but the boat was already moving too much. Supplies went flying, the boat tipped and rolled, and Doctor Horatio finally fell out. He hit the water on his back and went under, but not before he saw the canoe flip with Captain Tiberius in it," McCoy finished proudly.

"Captain Tiberius came up from the under the water, sputtering and coughing. He yelled at Doctor Horatio, 'Hey, Bones? What's the matter with you? Don't you know how to sit in a canoe?'" McCoy said, doing a fairly fine imitation of Jim's slightly higher voice and underlying Midwestern accent.

"What did Doctor Horatio say?" Max asked, falling over while he cackled away like a little hyena.

"Doctor Horatio called Captain Tiberius a lot of bad names and then looked for his portable hypo kit to see what he thought to bring. Luckily for the captain, it sunk to the bottom of the lake when the boat flipped over," McCoy replied, growling. He softened his expression when he saw matching expressions of fright in the eyes of both kids. "You have to remember that Captain Tiberius' one and only job was to find new ways to annoy Dr. Horatio. In fact, the doctor thought the captain laid in bed at night, thinking of new and exciting ways to make his friend's life miserable."

"Was he miserable? Dr. Horatio?"

"Not all the time. Only when Captain Tiberius was being a pain."

"That's a lot!" Anna observed with a happy squeak.

"You're right, little lady. But this time, just this one time, Dr. Horatio disappointed his friend. While the two friends were bobbing in the water, Captain Tiberius realized that Dr. Horatio actually held on to the fishing pole when the two went flying out of the boat. The captain started yelling in the middle of the lake," McCoy said in his own voice before he switched to his impression of Kirk's inflection and speech pattern. "'Really? Really, man? You hold on to the _rod?_ What's wrong with you?'"

"He held on to the fishing pole? Why?" Max asked, furrowing his little eyebrows together at the center.

"Well, that was very important to Dr. Horatio. He said that if was stuck in the middle of a lake in Iowa on shore leave because his idiot friend decided that he just _had_ to go fishing, he was going to eat the fish that caused the whole thing in the first place!" McCoy concluded, ticking off each point on his fingers. Shaking his head sadly and dramatically, McCoy finished the story with, "But when he finally reeled it up, Captain Tiberius started laughing at him, because the fish was too small to keep."

Max, exhausted, fighting sleep but still very interested in the story, was clearly confused. "So that's the moral? Catch a bigger fish?"

"No, the moral is, 'Don't go fishing with Captain Tiberius, even if he asks you really, really nicely'." Noting the children's yawns and droopy eyelids, McCoy stood and stretched his legs. He raised his arms over his head, stretching his chest and shoulders towards the ceiling until his back gave a loud pop. McCoy dropped his arms back to his sides, rubbed a sore spot on his neck and activated the side rails. The metal slid into place with a soft ' _thsink_ ', securing the two children on the bed. For the second time that night, he reached down and pulled the afghan, a gift from Winona, over his charges. He commanded the lights down to ten percent, tucked a little teddy bear into the hands of each child and ran a protective hand over each of their heads.

"Are you leaving?" Anna mumbled through closed eyes when McCoy started moving about the room.

Sliding into doctor mode, McCoy checked off the rounds sheet on the chart clipped to the end of the bed. He replaced the medical information and slid back into the rocker. "No," he breathed quietly as he reached over the rail. McCoy laid his hand the little girl's stomach. Anna instantly latched on, her tiny fingers gripping his tightly enough to leave impressions from her fingernails. McCoy never winced, nor did he make any attempt to ease her grip. Instead, he simply assured her, "I'll stay with you. Now, just close your eyes and go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

Satisfied with his answer, Anna closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, joining her bother in dreamland. As he watched from Christine's office, Spock found himself wishing the kids pleasant dreams, perhaps involving their parents and relatives. The shock of the truth would likely be a bitter pill to swallow.

Clearing his throat, the Enterprise's second in command stood, straightening a non-existent wrinkle from his perfectly pressed uniform shirt as he moved. Looking both Chapel and Uhura in the eyes, he said, "I thank you for your acceptance of my presence during this viewing. It has proven most educational."

"Anytime, Spock," Chapel said with a wave of her hand. "We'll teach you one of these days."

"I have no doubt," he said as he moved smoothly towards the door. "Now, if you will excuse me, this session has given me much to ponder."

Uhura snorted. "I don't doubt it."

"Don't think too hard!" Christine called to Spock's back.

Stopping in his tracks, the Vulcan spun on one heel and raised a quizzical eyebrow. With a sure glint in his eyes, he quipped, "I fail to see how that is at all possible."

Maybe he was starting to understand humans after all.

* * *

**Next Up** : Spock has an epiphany, and he and McCoy have a heart to heart.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, incompatibility is only skin-deep. Spock and McCoy come to an understanding with one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: This was the chapter that I really wanted to write when I dreamed up this story. I loved the terse, frosty reaction McCoy and Spock gave one another in the reboot, especially during the, "Are you out of your Vulcan mind," scene. I thought that the dynamic definitely deserved more than the two minutes it got, so this whole bit was my attempt at expansion. I hope you all have enjoyed it!
> 
> Disclaimer: As I'm now a bit concerned how I'm going to pay all the medical bills for my severely broken foot, I do not own Star Trek. I doubt Gene Roddenberry worried about those kinds of things. In either case, please don't sue me. No money is made here, I promise.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Spock was beginning to think that maybe he'd been wrong.

It was a very strange, very disconcerting feeling.

It was uncomfortable.

It was _alien._

Like him.

Spock spent the majority of his time actively pushing away those who weren't intimidated by his intelligence or perfectionism. While at the academy, he simply didn't have time to devote to what he termed as 'frivolous occupations of his time'. Friendship wasn't something for which he yearned, but now, he was actively questioning the logic of his decision. It would have made the transition from Academy instructor to starship first officer a hell of a lot easier. But, as his mother often said, the awkwardness was part of the journey. He simply wished they weren't such painful lessons to learn.

Thoughts swirled about his mind. What he'd seen in sickbay didn't make anything clearer. In fact, if anything, what Spock saw on the video feed in medical complicated matters entirely. Needing to think, the Vulcan headed out of sickbay and down the hallway, on his way to nowhere. He had much to contemplate, and Spock knew he wouldn't sleep well if he wasn't able to reconcile his way through them.

He meandered through the Enterprise's nearly deserted corridors, letting his mind go blank as he studied the rapidly growing conundrum that was Leonard McCoy. Six months ago, Spock's honest assessment was that he didn't care for the man. Their initial encounter hadn't helped; Spock knew his accusations against Kirk as Jim cheated his way past the Kobayashi Maru exam automatically earned him a first (and possibly second) strike in the doctor's book. At the time, he felt his actions justifiable, but now…

After the Battle of Vulcan (and much to his older self's disappointment), he'd not put in the effort to cultivate a friendship with Dr. McCoy the way he did with Kirk. Spock was, in fact, on a first name basis and quite friendly with the captain; the ship's CMO was another matter entirely. He tried to justify his non-action with the fact that he was busy working with Starfleet, the Federation and the remaining Vulcans to find a new planet to facilitate the relocation of what was left of his decimated species. But the truth, deep down and ugly, was that Spock simply didn't _want_ to make friends with McCoy.

The man was simply too emotional, too illogical, and too set in his ways to change. When he wasn't busy being openly hostile, McCoy was still distant and abrasive for reasons that escaped Spock's prevue. The opinionated man quickly rebuffed Spock's half-hearted attempts at civility to the point that subtly antagonizing the doctor, even in the middle of a crisis, became somewhat of a pleasurable experience he repeated whenever the opportunity presented itself. But all childishness aside, Spock resolved to tolerate McCoy for no other reason than professional courtesy. It would hardly inspire good order and discipline on the ship if it were openly advertised to the crew that the first officer and CMO couldn't stand to be in the same room with one another.

But when Spock watched everything he'd previously catalogued as fact disappear in a nuclear cloud of smoke in front of his eyes, the logical side of his brain also acknowledged that a strategic regrouping might be in order. When he needed to think, the first officer often found the observation lounge was the ideal location. As it was just turning over into Gamma shift, he also knew the room would be relatively unoccupied. Or, so he thought.

It took a split second for his eyes to adjust from the overtly bright lights of the hallway to the nearly dark observation room. Kept shadowy and dim for a purpose, the lounge lights were seldom used in order to accentuate the beauty of the negative space outside the safety of the ship. Spock stopped a few feet inside the doorway, noting the single silhouette of a humanoid male against the hazy glow of the passing stars.

Across the room, the startled object of the first officer's thoughts whirled around as soon as the doors whooshed open. His green eyes wide and exhausted, McCoy visibly tensed when his mind registered the presence of another figure in the doorway. Begrudging recognition eventually flowed past his features, and in that moment, the doctor seemed to deflate. Running a hand through his messy hair, his shoulders went limp while his posture sagged. McCoy leaned his back against the glass of the windows and greeted plainly, "Spock."

Clasping his hands behind his back, the first officer sidled silently up to the window to join the CMO. Millions of stars zipped past as the Enterprise traveled at warp speed, turning each gaseous ball into nothing but a bright, white blur against the inky blackness of space. Spock stopped next to McCoy and let the silence ring for a couple of long seconds. "Dr. McCoy," he replied simply.

After a couple more breaths in and out, McCoy finally caved. Rolling his eyes, he said, "Oh, for God's sake, man. I can hear you thinking all those crazy Vulcan thoughts of yours from where I'm standing. If you have something to say, say it. I won't break."

Spock wasted no time with preamble. "I do believe I owe you an apology, Doctor."

"What the hell kind of joke is this?" he growled hotly. McCoy's head snapped to the side. Distrust danced across his face as he tried to discern what motives the first officer had for this latest charade. Narrowing his eyes, he stared at Spock for a few long, tense seconds. "I'm telling you, Spock – it's been a long day and I'm too tired for this shit. So you can just stop all the funny business right now if you-"

Turning his body to face the other man, Spock cut McCoy's rant off in mid sentence by raising the palm of his right hand. He clarified. "I assure you this is not a joke. When we first became acquainted, I made certain assumptions – incorrect assumptions – regarding the nature of your character. At the time, I was confident in my assessments." Spock paused, allowing his voice to dip to a softer, less commanding tone. "After tonight, however, I feel it prudent to revise my earlier suppositions and have come to the conclusion that I have erred in your regard."

"That's a damned lot of words for this time of night. Speak human, not Vulcan. In case you haven't noticed, I'm runnin' a couple cylinders short of a funny car here," McCoy admitted with a tired laugh, running a hand over his face.

Perplexed, Spock made a mental note to research what, exactly, a 'funny car' was when he was back in his own quarters. Taking in some of the finer details about his medical counterpart, the first officer noted that the stress lines that had all but vanished as he told the children their story had returned in full force to McCoy's face. The constant but subtle frown he wore creased his forehead and drew his brows down, making him look far older than his actual age. It was such a switch from the gentle, joyful expressions of tenderness exhibited in sickbay that Spock was momentarily thrown. He shook off the feelings of dissonance and cleared his throat. "It appears you've divested yourself of your aviaphobia," he said, effortlessly changing the subject.

McCoy shrugged. His eyes remained forward as he watched the universe pass around them. Philosophically, he replied, "It seems a little insignificant now."

"I assume you are referring to the children in sickbay. If that is the case, I agree wholeheartedly." Spock stopped and turned so he was facing McCoy. He waited patiently until the doctor also squared his body. A strange sense of déjà vu washed over him as he thought about the last time he was in such close proximity to the then-interim CMO of the Enterprise. The feeling of familiarity was quickly replaced with shame; Spock let the emotions of a highly stressful situation get the better of him as he gloated in McCoy's face after baiting the man into an emotional reaction, and he'd just now realized how wrong that was.

If they were going to work together as senior members of the Federation's flagship, it would be logical if they all got along to a reasonable extent. Spock heard of the human phrase 'burying the hatchet' from numerous people on Earth. It would be prudent for him to begin the process, as he was the one who drew first blood. The Vulcan blinked his eyes a couple of times, allowing the optical smirk to show through. At the same time, he relaxed his face just enough to let McCoy see the barest hint of amusement on his lips.

It took a couple of extra seconds for the clearly drained surgeon's brain to register the change in demeanor, but when it did, a broad, knowing smile broke out across his tired face. "Well, I'll be goddamned. You do have those muscles in your face."

Spock arched one elegant eyebrow while he angled his chin down. "As the ship's primary physician, I am well aware of your proficiency in Vulcan anatomy and physiology. As such, you understand the gap between our species is not a large one," he said matter of factly.

"Spock," McCoy began, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his track pants. He looked down, some of his hair falling into his face as he did so. When he lifted his eyes back up, there was a definite light behind them that was missing a few seconds before which made the man look innumerably more youthful. "I was joking."

"Ah. I see." Not to be outdone, he looked McCoy straight in the eye and said, "It appears that the majority of the crew is incorrect in their assumptions as well. Though I find scuttlebutt to be unnecessary, it has come to my attention our crew does believe you are incapable of humor. What I witnessed this evening, along with your reaction here, disproves that theory completely."

McCoy dropped his head and kicked at a speck of dust on the tile. "You saw that, huh? Do me a favor and keep it quiet, dammit. I have a reputation to uphold."

"I do not understand why you would wish to hide such a useful fact, but I will respect your wishes. But, in order to hold such a secret, I require something from you," Spock answered.

"Here we go," McCoy muttered with an instantly distrustful roll of his eyes.

"I require a second chance at a first impression. I did not present myself in a fashion due my rank in Starfleet, nor did I do my family name justice when we initially met. I openly antagonized you, and forced you to choose between loyalty and duty during a time of crisis. My actions were nothing but a distraction, and a sour beginning to our relationship," Spock stated as if he were reading the latest comet forecast for Nebula 24 instead of executing a heartfelt (for a Vulcan) apology.

McCoy was too busy attempting to pick his jaw up off the tile to properly formulate a sentence. Sighing, he composed himself enough to mutter, "Aw, hell," before he used his fingers to rub away the headache forming at the temples of his eyes. "You're not the only one who was an ass."

"Indeed. I do believe that it would be prudent to attribute our rather tumultuous beginning to the stress of our situation. It would be illogical to dwell on the past, as we both appear ready to make changes in order to function as a more cohesive unit that will effectively carry out the duties for the Enterprise-"

For the second time that evening, McCoy interrupted the first officer. But instead of opening his mouth, the doctor simply stuck his hand out, thumb up, palm open. "Truce?" he asked.

The Vulcan readily accepted McCoy's outstretched hand. "Truce," he agreed.

Releasing Spock's hand, McCoy stepped back and turned towards the glass of the observation deck. He noted that Spock did the same. Sticking his hands in the pouch of his hoodie, he watched as the stars passed the ship. McCoy sneaked a glance or two at Spock, waiting until the slight movement caught the Vulcan's sharp eyes. When Spock turned his head in inquiry, the doctor said smugly from the corner of his mouth, "I'm still gonna call you a hobgoblin. That ain't ever going to change."

A small, nearly inaudible snort of air escaped Spock's mouth. He looked around furtively to be sure no one else heard it. As the proverbial coast was clear, he turned his head just enough to allow McCoy to see the mischievous glint held in his dark eyes. With his voice flat and passive, he replied. "I expect nothing less."

Nothing less indeed.

**-FIN-**


End file.
